


lilac sky  (A modern day Klance AU)

by dochasonafriday



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Its prob gonna be sad, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Yikes, possible major character death, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:06:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9441899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dochasonafriday/pseuds/dochasonafriday
Summary: Keith is an artist. Lance is his focus.Keith keeps on seeing the same freckled face boy everywhere, and it drives him insane.So he paints.And Lance finds out.Then chaos ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Introduction**

 

Tan skin, brown hair, blue eyes.  
Tan skin, brown hair, blue eyes.   
Tan skin, brown hair, blue eyes.  
Freckles?   
Freckles.  
Tan skin, brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles.

It was all that occupied Keith's mind.

Tan skin, brown hair, blue eyes, freckles, and a smile that could end wars.

This face was implanted into Keith's brain- it had become a part of him.

He saw it as he made his way down the busy streets in Brooklyn, New York. He saw it when he sat down for a coffee down the street from his apartment. He saw it whenever his eyes closed- the image was burned into the back of his eyelids.

Keith was going insane.

He loved it.

He began to draw the boy subconsciously, images of him appearing sporadically- a smile drawn onto an old reciept, freckles scattered on the poster above his bed, dark blue eyes appearing in his notebook more often than not, dimples drawn on every blank page.

Soon these images grew more abstract as the days went on. Keith felt that he couldn't illustrate the sheer beauty of this being by simply sketching his features- he wanted to show how he made him _feel_  . How his freckles looked like stars and his eyes like oceans. How this boy was essentially _magical_  in his entire being.

As Keith kept on seeing the boy everywhere, he began to depict him in different mediums- paint, collages, water color, charcoal, pointillism, anything that Keith could get his hands on.

As time went on, the images appeared more frequently- a profile image on the refrigerator door, a pencil sketch on the closet door, an eye on his hand.

When he figured out that he had only 2 weeks left, he began painting the murals.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

As Keith's body began to fatigue at a rapidly increasing rate, he knew before the doctor told him that he didn't have long until his body gave up completely. 

Keith had pancreatic cancer.

And he had 2 weeks.

2 weeks to get this boy called Lance to meet him.

So he would paint murals.

He started with his eyes.

He painted his dark, ocean blue eyes on an abandoned billboard, covering it with splashes of color and surrounding it with the warm tan of Lance's skin. His electrifying eyes were alight with curiosity,  as Keith knew them to be as the brown haired boy walked by the same coffee shop every morning- eager to see the world. 

 

He moved down to his nose, adorning it with the sporadic pattern of freckles he had memorized all to well. He made the freckles into stars- the nose becoming a galaxy in itself. This one was on the front door of an old building. The previous paint before was peeling off, so Keith decided to renovate it.

He painted his smile next. The laugh that could destroy walls and stop a child's cry. Keith tried to capture the musicality of his laugh- the way it rang in his ears the following day and lulled him to sleep. The sheer volume of it was something to admire as well- he laughed so loud without a care in the world while others like Keith were afraid to show their smile.

 

After 3 nights of painting the puzzle pieces that made up Lance, Keith decided to paint him in his entirety. 

The first one took four days. 

In those four days Keith's health declined rapidly. 

He left it unfinished but signed it nonetheless, because he had to paint  _more._

He would leave notes on the paintings as well, each one giving clues to the next, and he prayed to anything that Lance noticed them.

On the 10th day he finished the last one.

This time he left a note asking Lance to meet him in the coffee shop.

He refused to go to the hospital.

He needed to hear this boy speak.

He needed to see him closer.

So he waited.

And waited.

 

 

 

And

 

 

Waited.

 

 

 

 

 

He

 

 

 

Waited

 

 

 

Every

 

 

 

Morning

 

 

 

 

 

 

For

 

 

 

 

4

 

 

 

More

 

 

 

 

Days.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keith should be dead right now.

 

But he wasn't. 

 

 

He was alive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the 18th morning in the coffee shop Keith dialed 911.

 

 

He knew.

 

 

And he waited.

 

A

n

d

 

 

 

W

a 

i

t

e

d

 

 

....

 

 

Until

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

Lance McClain was a busy man. Every day was the same- wake up, walk to work, get coffee at lunch, walk home, eat dinner, sleep, repeat. 

He lived in an apartment complex not too far from his favorite coffee shop which he loved ever so dearly, and had no roommates.

He had a few friends from college, but they were back home in Indiana. 

He moved to New York when he was 19- two years ago. 

It wasn't everything he hoped it would be- it was covered in graffiti (which he despised), and was full of busy people that didn't like to talk.

Lance loved to talk.

He loved to hear people's stories and tell his own- he loved to  _learn._

His teachers always said he had a love for words, which wasn't wrong. He still loved to write and wrote often. He wrote about people, mostly. The messy-haired neighbor with big round glasses, the neighbor upstairs with a big heart that loved to cook, the raven-haired boy that say at the same table at the coffee shop every morning as Lance went to work, the man with the two-toned hair that always wore suits- it didn't matter to Lance. He would write stories.

 

Which is why he was intrigued when he saw one a few weeks later painted on a wall.

That wasn't the only peculiar thing...

 

His face was there too.

 

He began to read.

 

**Keith**

His breathing slowed as the doctors around him in the ambulance moved faster, everything was growing into a blur around him-

**Lance**

- _blue eyes, freckles, and a smile that could end wars. We have never talked before, but this boy is art in himself. If you are reading this, I would like to ask you if yo-_

 

**Keith**

 

-as the monitor slowed and all Keith wanted was to...

 

**Lance**

- _at the coffee shop tomorrow morning? I'm there every day, so it won't matter when you read this. I'll be there the next day. My name is Keith. Keith Kogane, actually. And I think that you are quite spectacular even though we have never talked before and I'm sorry if this creeps you out as I really dont want to do that. Im-_

 

**Keith**

...sleep

_________________

**Lance**

Lance decided that he needed to meet this person.

And he would search to the ends of the earth to find him.


	4. Chapter 4

Lance started by waiting at the coffee shop described in the letter on his first day off - which happened to be the one that he already attended on his lunch breaks during the week. That next Saturday, Lance arrived at 7am (the letter said 7:30, but he wanted to be early) and waited at a seat by the window. He figured that the artist would recognize him first- since he had been painting him- so he waited. 

 

After an hour, Lance walked up to the counter and ordered a coffee (2 cream, 3 sugar).

 

He waited another hour after that and ordered another coffee, not sure if he was shaking from how anxious he was or the amount of caffeine running through his system. 

 

After the clock reached 11am, Lance made his way home.

 

He was sure that this artist was probably busy or he forgot. 

 

The thought didn't cross his mind that he could be gone.

 

So he returned the next day and waited.

 

At 8 he ordered a coffee.

 

At 10 he ordered another.

 

This time he waited until 4pm, as he brought his laptop with him to keep him busy.

 

Then he went home again.

 

The person was probably anxious, Lance concluded. I mean, revealing to a stranger that you're completely fascinated with them was a pretty risky move.

 

Lance went through the rest of the week, passing by the large mural with the letter in red paint everyday as he did so.

 

He wondered if this artist watched him when he passed by the painting.

 

He was sure of it by Thursday.

 

He began to fantasize about the romantic possibilities between him and this person.

 

He would be sitting in the coffee shop like he usually did every weekend, when there would be a hand that steadied his as it scrambled across the keyboard.

 

He would look up and see a smile looking down at him.

 

That's all it was, though- a smile. He couldn't imagine that person's face. 

 

He really wanted to meet this person. So he returned to the coffee shop the next weekend.

 

And the weekend after that.

 

After a month, he assumed that the person was probably busy on weekends and forgot to mention it in their letter. He decided to call in sick the next few days to see.

 

He was wrong.

 

The person wasn't there.

 

So he decided that he needed to search.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HhhHHH I am so sorry for not updating this for a month...this last month has been very stressful with school, orchestra, family troubles, and a stomach flu that lasted for 8 days. I know I shouldnt be excusing myself, but....
> 
> I'm sorry ♡

_2 months earlier_  
  
  
Lance watched as more and more people entered the coffee shop- a black haired man, his shorter neighbor with their larger roommate, and a few other people that Lance knew to be regulars.  
  
Today, Lance was going to focus on the man with the mullet-esque hairstyle.

He appeared to be in his early twenties, with the small hints of stubble that occasionally poked out of his chin, and had dark blue eyes that almost seemed purple. His complexion was very pale, and rare moments when the two were close revealed a few freckles scattered across his collarbone (though they were very hard to see). This made Lance think that the boy barely went outside. 

His messy hair and pale skin reminded Lance slightly of his neighbor, Pidge Gunderson, though this stranger's persona spilled out that he was someone entirely different. 

The calluses on his left hand told Lance that he was left handed and tended to write a lot- no. He painted. The calluses were much too large to accommodate a pencil. These were calluses from a paint brush.

The small paint splatters on his jeans proved to match his point.

The man almost always ordered the same beverage every morning, and only wore his hair up on Tuesdays. Lance wondered why this was.

He decided to write a story about this man, as he found him to be quite intriguing, (and Lance wrote stories about almost everyone in this coffee shop) so he started typing one morning.

 

He wrote about this person's paintings.

The fact that this person had a solidified daily routine and wore plain, dark clothes told Lance that his art style leaned more towards the realistic side of the spectrum. The colors on his jeans told him that he painted people. 

Lance was caught off guard occasionally by the presence of a random bright splatter here and there, but the majority of colors on this man's pants were muted tans and browns.

He knew that he would delete this document a few days later once his "report" was finished, yet Lance couldn't help but feel somewhat of an attachment towards this guy.

 

Of course it wasn't romantic, as he hadn't even spoke to the person before, but it was still some form of attraction nonetheless. 

He saw him glance over in his direction a few times before, but Lance brushed it off as a simple scan over the room as his eyes continued to gaze across the small café and the various tables filled with people. 

 

Lance also noted that this man always came in alone. Of course this couldn't prove that he was single, and it wasn't like Lance cared about it anyways, but it was still something that he noted. 

On some days, the boy appeared to be ill, those these were always spread sporadically throughout the week. Lance wondered about this briefly, but quickly forgot about it as it passed through his mind.

On the sixth day of writing, Lance realized that his document was far too long- it exceeded the typical length of his other documents by almost 4 pages in length and grew exponentially as his fingers continued to fly over the keyboard.

 

So on the seventh day Lance deleted the document and moved on to the next customer.


End file.
